


The Photograph

by girlintheglen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An encounter months earlier has Napoleon in a conundrum of sorts when the woman comes to his attention again.  Originally posted on Section VII at LJ for the Song Story Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Photograph

  
  
  
He couldn't get her out of his mind...the vision of her. He'd seen her just for one minute and, considering what he did for a living, had not thought it would be difficult to follow her and then gain introductions.  
He was wrong. She had completely eluded him in that department store, going from one aisle to the next and changing floors with an ever increasing urgency that he couldn't seem to follow.  
  
It was driving him mad. He needed to find her and capture her affections. But...where was she now? He'd already been to the top floor and checked on the offices and gift wrap niche, still frustrated and without a clue as to where she'd escaped.  
  
She had lovely lips. Lucious lips. And green eyes that had fairly glimmered against the backdrop of olive skin and auburn hair. And her body had made him...yearn. He immediately wanted to caress her, stroke...  
Just that momentary glimpse of her had been intoxicating and now...he was aching to find her, know her and...he had to find her.  
  
He didn't think he could go back to headquarters without knowing who she was, and whether or not the reality of her was as good as what he was developing in his mind as perfection.  
  
What if she wasn't perfect. What if he were mistaken and his judgement was now in jeopardy of having failed him. What if he chased her all over this damned store and she turned out to be...married. Or, worse yet, boring.  
  
He had matured lately, considering a woman's content as valuable as her packaging. Maybe that was due to his partner's influence; it complicated things.  
  
So, now he needed to find her and justify his madness, for certainly she must be as intelligent and engaging as she was beautiful.  
  
She was beautiful.  
  
He had to find her.  
  
  
 _10 Months Later_ …  
  
The meeting came to a close with the sweet southern drawl of Miss Darcy Childress, the new linguistics expert recently transferred from the Miami office.  
  
Napoleon managed to mouth the words ‘ _have lunch with me_ ’ from behind his partner’s back, eliciting a smile from the pretty brunette.  
  
“I saw that.”  
  
Napoleon didn’t flinch, but the idea that his partner knew him well enough to have guessed his actions was a bit disconcerting.  
  
“You did not, you’re just counting on my continual pursuit of beautiful women.”  
  
Illya smiled, something that caught Miss Childress’ eye and merited another gleaming acknowledgement.  Napoleon noticed her as she openly flirted with his partner, wondering once more about the less than obvious charms the Russian apparently possessed.  
  
Alexander Waverly allowed this random flirtation for the thirty or so seconds that it entailed before harrumphing his notice of dismissal to all.  The three people involved took note, bade farewell to their superior and left the office of the Continental Chief, led by Solo with his blond partner in the rear.  Darcy Childress let herself enjoy the moment as she toyed with the notion of dating, not one, but both of UNCLE’s top agents.  Miami wasn’t so far south that the names of Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin hadn’t reached it.  
  
As the parade passed by the desk of Lisa Rogers, she caught Napoleon’s eye and motioned for him to come nearer.  
  
“Ah, and what may I do for you today, lovely Lisa?”  
  
Not even the charming Napoleon Solo could rock Lisa’s foundation, the woman was made of steel as far as her reputation was concerned.  Illya stayed away from her as much as possible, but Napoleon was still attempting to break the icy veneer of Waverly’s new Administrative Assistant.  Most assumed she also doubled as a bodyguard to the aging head of the Northwest Sector; she certainly had the personality of someone who could ward off an attack.  
  
“Mr. Solo, I believe I have asked you to not refer to me that way.  It is unprofessional on every level.”  
  
Napoleon did not show his disappointment at the rebuff, however his resolve to win over the woman was waning daily.  
  
“I apologize, Li… Miss Rogers.  Is that why you called me over?”  
  
Illya turned his head away to hide the smile while Miss Childress watched the scene unfold.   _Why on earth would any woman want to be so rude to Mr. Solo?_  
  
Lisa resumed, slightly mistrustful of the man facing her.  
  
“No, Mr. Solo, it is not.  Mr. Waverly left this here for you, it’s to be handled immediately.’  
  
She handed him an envelope, and with a demeanor she must surely have copied from her boss, turned and started working on a document in front of her.  
  
Napoleon didn’t need to say anything more, he knew that one day...  He opened the envelope as he returned to walk beside his partner and Darcy.  
  
“What?”  
  
Napoleon turned around and addressed Lisa once more.  
  
“Where did this come from?”  
  
Lisa looked up from her work to stare at the agent, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders.  
  
“I don’t know, Mr. Solo.  Mr. Waverly told me to give it to you, and said you would know what to do.”  
  
Napoleon did not know what to do.  The photograph was of a woman he had seen once; had, in fact followed through a department store.  He had been so completely smitten by her that the thought of that woman had vexed him for many days.  
  
“What is it, Napoleon?”  
  
Illya’s voice carried some concern, and he wondered what had caused his partner to respond as he had.  
  
“It’s … this photograph is of a woman … ‘  
  
The smirk was inevitable, but Napoleon didn’t see it.  
  
“I saw her months ago.  I snapped a picture of her with one of those little camera gizmos, did a little follow-up… I never did find out who she was.”  
  
Now Darcy was intrigued, but perhaps a little surprised that an agent would utilize the tools at his disposal for personal projects.   The woman must have made some kind of impression, though.  
  
“You mean to tell me that you had her traced?  Is that the picture you took?”  
  
Napoleon shook his head.  It was more than a photograph, it was a report from Interpol.  
  
“It appears that she …”  
  
Illya recognized something in his friend’s reaction that bordered on sadness, or remorse perhaps.  Napoleon didn’t even know the woman, but the Russian did recall his infatuation with her.  
  
“She is what, Napoleon?”  
  
As Darcy and Illya waited for a reply, a series of conflicting thoughts and emotions raced through Napoleon Solo’s mind.  He didn’t know this woman, but he would not have thought this was possible.  
  
“It seems my photograph set off a series of inquiries that culminated in identifying her as … This is Sophia Del Rio, an assassin who is wanted for the murders of more than ten high ranking officials throughout the world.”  
  
Darcy was speechless.  She had no idea about the history of this affair, but judging from Napoleon’s reaction she thought he must have known the woman.  Illya was silent and thoughtful, knowing that his partner would not have thought a woman capable of such a violent lifestyle in spite of the ones they encountered all to often.  Napoleon had an old world sensibility about a woman’s honor, in spite of himself.  
  
“This is an incredible development, my friend.  Perhaps the timeliness of your sighting will help to save some lives, at least bring her to justice.  It was serendipitous, Napoleon, and in the end will be for the best.”  
  
Napoleon sighed in resignation to what was before him.  That beautiful woman who had caught his eye was an international assassin.  Waverly had thought it important to let him know of the findings, as though the photograph had been more than an exercise in chasing women.  It was a kindness on the part of the Old Man to let his top man know the situation without having to speak of it.  
  
“Okay, I guess we’ll hear more on this as it happens.  Speaking of happenings, Miss Darcy are we still on for lunch?”  
  
Darcy Childress nodded and winked as she headed towards the elevator, leaving Napoleon and Illya alone in the corridor.  It was pointless to try and fool the Russian by speaking with anything less than honesty.  
  
“It was a lark, Illya, just a ridiculous lark.  I don’t even know what I was thinking would happen if I did locate her.  I don’t know her, so why does this make me feel as though I’ve lost something?”  
  
Blue eyes were intense as Illya tried to compose an appropriate response.  Sometimes they felt more powerful than they were, and sometimes they had to come to terms with how little could be done to change the world.  A female assassin shopping in Saks; it was ludicrous.  
  
“You thought you recognized something exceptional, Napoleon.  You saw in her, perhaps, what you hoped to find in any woman.  For whatever reason, you hoped that she would be someone you could get to know.  There is no fault in that.  In the end you helped launch a successful investigation that will probably lead to her arrest.”  
  
Napoleon could only nod his agreement, but in his heart he kept thinking that she might have been someone he had once known or loved; it was certainly what he had felt that day.  
“You’re right, tovarisch, and there’s no point in regretting any of it. Hopefully she’ll be caught before she can do any more damage.”  
  
Illya nodded as Napoleon wondered about the girl in the picture, the life she led and how wrong he had been when dreaming about her.  She had occupied his mind, but now he knew she would never be a girl he knew from somewhere, anywhere… He could only hope that they would never meet again.


End file.
